Cure
by Kato Molotov
Summary: [Any time in S2 post-Tick/Boom. Pure fluff.] Beckett has a problem. Castle offers a variety of interesting remedies.


{_Started a 100-word drabble in response to a text post. Ended up with this and a lost hour of sleep. Thank you, Tumblr._}

* * *

**Cure**

"Suck on this for me, Beckett," Castle says as he careens around the corner, his loud and absurdly cheerful presence invading her temporary hide-out in the break room. Her first instinct is to poke him for the comment. She's pulling her hand back, her middle and pointer fingers poised and ready to jab him in the chest when she spots what he's offering to her and halts mid-poke. The slice of lemon looks thoroughly unappetizing and her mouth puckers in anticipatory dread.

_Hic._

"I coated it in sugar," he offers, gently this time, "it won't be too bad."

_Hic._

There's nothing about this situation Kate likes. It's just her lot in life, she muses miserably. Only she would end up with incurable hiccups that began a full two hours ago, unrelenting as the time dwindles down until she has to concentrate on her annual firearms qualification. It's bad enough that she's hiccupping at all, but it's the _way_ she hiccups that has the flush creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks rosy and hot. She's never been able to control it; ever since she was a little girl, her hiccups have been loud, and worse yet, they come out sounding like the yelp of a dog. Her parents used to laugh and laugh at her until she'd stomp her little foot and tell them to STOP NOW!, at which point they'd only cackle harder until they nearly choked on their own wretched laughter. School was another nightmare entirely.

_Hic._

When the episode first began, she'd simply pretended that she was not hiccuping at all. She did _not_ to hear Ryan and Esposito sniggering at their desk. She did _not_ spot three uniforms, fresh out of the academy, peeking around the corner to laugh at her like the children they were. She did _not_ to see Montgomery duck into his office and slam the door before he burst out laughing uncontrollably. She definitely did _not_ see Castle, hiding behind his phone to poorly conceal a smile and something in his eyes that looked terrifyingly like amused adoration.

_Hic._

As the clock ticked towards her evaluation, however, her desperation began to outweigh her pride. It was never a good position to be put in. Especially not when her only hope lay in a hyper-caffeinated mystery author with an apparent encyclopedic knowledge of folk cures for hiccups.

_Hic._

So far, she's tried all the classics. Gargling salt water. Holding her breath. She even had Ryan and Esposito take turns trying to scare her, but their attacks were too predictable and frankly pathetic to have any effect. One would think two NYPD Detectives would know better than to call out their attacks like teenage boys playing a video game.

So she did the only thing she could and turned to Castle. His methods have grown progressively stranger as the day wears on. He made her sing the alphabet backwards. He made her plug her nose and sing the alphabet backwards. He made her plug her nose, sing the alphabet backwards, and drink water at the same time, and then he had the stones to laugh at her when she choked and spewed the water.

_"It worked on Alexis when she was little!"_ he'd defended weakly, between gales of sputtering laughter, ignoring her icy glare.

_Hic._

Now he wants her to suck on a lemon?

Beckett begins her irritated refusal when she glances at her watch.

Ten minutes. She has no time to argue or look for alternatives.

_Hic._

"Just try it, Beckett," Castle grumps, though the mirth playing in his navy eyes and the way they crinkle at the corners betrays him.

It's all come down to this. Being mocked by the overgrown class clown, hiding out in her own precinct, and now, preparing to suck a lemon prepared and... _handled_ by her irritating shadow. _That_ particular thought was one she never wished to explore again, though she knows it's a useless hope. Instead, it will feature prominently in her growing repertoire of unwanted thoughts about her partner. The ones that began the day he skated himself into her life on gilded blades of charm and snark. The ones that have only grown in frequency and intensity since his recent, admittedly heroic rescue of her from her burning apartment. The ones that invade her and rob her of her peace ever since the post-explosion days she spent at the loft surrounded by him in every thread of the sheets, every creak in the floor, every gentle footfall in the night.

"Fine," she fumes for good measure, trying to banish the flood of memories and unsolicited thoughts. Unfortunately, the effect is rather ruined when she's interrupted mid-growl by an embarrassingly loud-

**_Hic!_**

The author's eyebrows raise and his lips purse and curl at the corners while his chin quivers with barely-suppressed laughter.

"Shut up!" Beckett snaps pre-emptively, and that does it. It sends him over the edge and he chortles and gasps until he's breathless with it, doubled over except for his still outstretched hand. He doesn't even move or flinch or shut the hell up when she delivers a sharp kick to his solid shin.

_**Hic!**_

Seizing the lemon angrily, she pops it into her mouth without ceremony and sucks, squeezing her eyes shut as her lips seal around the edge and the sweetness of the sugar coating fades quickly into the bitterness of the lemon juice. Distracted by the sour taste and the tears filling her tightly-closed eyes, it takes her a moment to register that his laughter has stopped abruptly.

_How long am I supposed to keep doing this!?_ she wonders as the taste fills every crevice of her mouth, the juice running down her throat.

"Beckett?" Castle inquires with concern.

At last she can stand it no longer and pulls the wrung slice from her mouth, drawing in a deep breath. He's ready with a paper cup of water and she gulps it down, nodding her gratitude to him. For long moments, they wait in anticipation.

She's impressed and more than a little relieved. Maybe she'll even let Castle off without abusing his shins or ears or nose on the next few inappropriate innuendos or bad puns he makes.

"Well, Castle, it looks like that actu-"

**_HIC!_**

"Why is this happening to me!?" Beckett moans, entirely too busy wallowing in self-pity to care how childish that sounds.

"Sorry, Beckett," Castle mumbles, looking repentant. As she enters full panic mode, she can't bring herself to be mad at him, annoying though his methods were.

"It's okay, Castle," drawing a shaky breath, she feels a stab of regret at her irritability with him. "You were just trying to help."

**_HIC!_**

Six minutes. She's got to make her way down to the precinct's firing range. Perhaps she can time her shots between hiccups and minimize the chance of her aim being thrown off by the spasms.

"I've got to go," Beckett resigns quietly. "Wish me luck?"

She turns to begin her walk of shame, but runs into something solid and warm and distinctly Castle-shaped. His broad shoulders block her exit and his nervous smile is right at eye-level for her, the height difference working its usual maddening magic.

"Let me go, Castle!"

Laying two large, warm hands on her shoulders, gripping her strongly enough to let her know she's not going anywhere, he stops her attempt to move him aside.

"Gotta wish you good luck, _Kate_…" his voice trails off and _oh god, oh god, _he's leaning down. She knows what's going to happen, and all she can think is _no, no, no, no_ and then _yes, please, finally, yes,_ and finally settles on _not here, somewhere private, please, just not here_!

Except, it never comes at all. His breath ghosts across her cheek before he pulls away, releasing her shoulders. A single, horrible moment of crushing disappointment overwhelms her before she can collect herself. Not realizing her eyes slid closed at some point, she pops them open and finds herself confused by the apology in his eyes contrasted with the hopeful quirk of his one-sided smile.

"Castle!" - _how dare he, how DARE he –_ "what the hell are you thinking? We're at _work_!" the words leave her mouth with an uncensored, gasping hiss, unexamined for their roundabout implication that it would somehow be okay if they were elsewhere.

He says nothing as he straightens up to his full height, re-adjusts his coat, and shuffles away from the door, leaving her escape path clear. _Why am I not leaving? _she wonders with rising panic. But as long, strained moments tick on, she notices it: the distinct lack of spasms or embarrassing noises from deep within her chest.

She waits moments longer, thinking there must just be a delay. But a long minute later, she admits defeat. Or victory. Or both. She's not sure what having Castle's almost-kiss shake her so badly that her hiccups are frightened away counts as.

"Un-freakin'-believable," Beckett mutters darkly. "See you later, Castle."

"Good luck!" he calls after her as she bolts toward the firing range in the basement, that infuriating, deceptively innocent note of delight back in his voice.

He's never going to let her live it down, but at least she'll still have her gun and she can still threaten him if he tries anything like that ever, ever again.

Or maybe if he doesn't.


End file.
